Always the Lesser Man
by BlondMoments
Summary: Connected to my Aileenistair series, but could be read as a stand-alone fic. Rendon and Bryce are the best of friends... at least they used to be. Until war and a pretty blonde archer got in the way.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This is a mini fic related to my _Aileenistair_ series. It is meant to be read after **Chapter 5 – A Traitor in Our Midst** (which FanFiction . Net calls Chapter 7), but could be read as a stand-alone. This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but it grew too lengthy for that. It is told in the first person point of view, from Arl Howe's eyes, and is meant to provide head-canon!insight into why Rendon hates the Couslands so much. Rendon will often seem to speak directly to the reader in his remembrance, which is for what I aimed. It is as if he is telling a story.

If you're wondering from where the hell I got this idea – I decided to take full liberty of a single line in the game and play with it.

Okay, now read. ;)

* * *

_Always the Lesser Man_

**Chapter 1**

It was always _Bryce_. Bryce _this_, Bryce _that_… Did you hear what _Bryce Cousland_ did? Hmph. I knew my family had had feuds with them for many years, but I never really understood why.

According to the history books, what is now Highever was once ruled by some cousins of ours, before the Couslands took control of the area, and _Father_ believed it 'rightfully' belonged to us. Father was an idiot, though, because he sided with Orlais during the rebellion… the greedy bastard. And, let me tell you, it took _quite_ a while to regain Maric's trust in the Howes after he did that, even if I did have to make sure he was hanged in order to prove my… _dedication_ to the rebellion…

My father had resented me for not letting the history between our families dictate my friendship with Bryce Cousland. I thought it was stupid… the feud, that is. I hadn't witnessed any treachery, and I had no reason to hate the Couslands. Why should I?

But as I'm standing here, inside the _burning_ Cousland castle, you might wonder how I came to this point, how I came to _loathe_ the Couslands so much that I decided to end them. I'm about to tell you…

)-(

_14 Justinian, 8:96 Blessed. Somewhere in the Southron Hills._

"We camp here."

"Are you sure that's wise, Bryce?"

Bryce Cousland dismounted from his horse and began untying his equipment from the saddle. "Oh, come now, Leonas! What are you scared of? The trees?"

I chuckled to myself. "We _are_ near the Brecilian." I dismounted and gave a signal to the soldiers that camp needed to be made.

Leonas Bryland scoffed. "No, not the _trees_." He pulled on the reins of his horse and gazed at the forest.

"The wolves, then?" Bryce teased again.

Leonas glared. "I mean the fact that we're practically squatting on an Orlesian camp. I know the plan we've developed, but…" He let his thought trail off as he dismounted.

I rolled my eyes. "Montel's men _will_ do their part," I assured him. "And he's already risked a _great_ deal. We can't—"

"Forget I said anything," Leonas interrupted. He sighed.

Bryce clapped Leonas on the back. "We're not _squatting _on their camp. Besides, I will have our scouts out well before the Orlesians would dream of finishing supper, watching their camp for anything suspicious. Bann Everett and his men will fulfill their task; everything will go excellently."

It seemed that Leonas finally ceased worrying about where we had stopped – at least for the moment. I chuckled quietly to myself and, as I began unpacking my belongings, I went over the plan in my mind. Leonas exaggerated – there were at least four miles of trees between the Orlesian camp and ours. Though, the Orlesians were… _preoccupied_. Everett Montel, Bann of Oswin, had coordinated a series of strikes against the camp, keeping the… _attention_ on himself for several weeks. He had been attacking from the south, giving us the chance to move down from South Reach and prepare to flank the Orlesians from the Southron Hills. The hills were home to several tree lines and forests, and where we'd decided to camp was hidden from the Orlesian camp by the trees. We'd send scouts out as a necessary precaution, and to evaluate enemy camp structure, but I had confidence that this strategy would work.

It had to. We _couldn't_ let the _Orlesians_ win any more battles. I _wouldn't_.

Someone placed his hand on my shoulder, and I could only assume it was Bryce.

"You seem deep in thought, Rendon." I was correct.

I half-smiled at my best friend. "Just thinking about… what we have to _do_ tomorrow." Bryce grabbed a hammer to help me finish staking my tent, because a few of his men had helped him finish his already.

"And nothing else?" _Strike_.

I sighed and looked over at Bryce's tent. _Strike._ "Not all the men _trust_ me, do they?" I asked, looking back at him.

Bryce stopped mid-swing. He avoided eye contact. "Why would you think that?" he asked, resuming the hammering.

"_Well_, _aside_ from the fact that you're a _terrible_ liar…"

He chuckled quietly. "Aye, a liar, I am not." _Strike_.

"So it's true?"

Bryce sighed and scratched his head. He put the hammer down. "What do you want me to say, Friend? Your father is on the other side of the war: of course some of the men do not trust you." Bryce picked up the hammer and pointed at me. "But _you_ – _you _will prove them wrong, aye? You are leading the stealth team tomorrow, and we _will_ succeed, with your help."

I shrugged and looked away.

"Hey." Bryce grabbed my shoulders. His bright blue eyes darted between my brown ones. "You have nothing to fear, aye?"

I nodded slowly and tried to keep my heart's pace steady. "Aye," I said with a grin, mimicking his Highever speech. "Just what will it take to regain everyone's trust, I wonder? Killing my father?"

Bryce winced and let go of me. "Hopefully it will not come to that, Rendon."

"What if it does?"

"_Pray_ that it will not."

It was my turn to sigh. "All right."

"No more pessimism, all right?"

"Aye."

Now Bryce rolled his eyes. "Let's just finish your tent."

I smiled. "Thanks, Bryce."

_Strike._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_The Next Morning._

I tossed the whetstone back in my pack after I'd sharpened my daggers to pointy perfection. These would do great damage tonight.

Our scouts had done _excellently_ last night. They'd reported that the camp was, as expected, fortified by thick tree trunks all around. And though it would be _difficult_, it'd be possible to scale the walls and sneak in. They had also located the Orlesian leader – a Chevalier. His tent was on the east side of the camp. It was the most elaborate and most heavily guarded tent, and we'd learned from experience that the Orlesians made _no_ attempt to mask their leaders' whereabouts. They'd also noted that there were very few scouts in the woods on the east side, and that they were spread apart, which meant it would be easy to handle them one at a time without alerting any of the others. My team's job was to infiltrate the east side of the camp and capture the Chevalier – kill if necessary, but capture was the main goal. We needed to get information from him. My mission was the trickiest because it had to be accomplished first. If any other attacks took place before ours, there'd be no telling what alarms would be raised, and how quickly they'd respond. If everything went according to plan, Montel would attack in full force _after_ I gave the signal, and Leonas would lead the flanking north attack team, consisting of all of his men and some of Bryce's. Bryce and the rest of his men would wait in the trees to keep any Orlesians from retreating, while my team would've – _hopefully_ – escaped with the Chevalier. It was foolproof.

I called my small team together to discuss the strategy once more, and it didn't take long for them to assemble – counting myself, there were seven men. Five archers and one of the best Rogues we had, who would infiltrate the camp with me.

"I don't believe you've forgotten already," I began, "but I wanted to go over our part one more time. From last night's observations, it seems that six men stand guard on the eastern side of the enemy camp, but there could be more tonight. It is the archers' duty to take them out. Kill them, incapacitate them—I don't care. Take them out. After that, me and Simeon"—I nodded to my partner—"will dress in Orlesian armour, scale the wall, and capture the Chevalier. Then we'll signal for the attack to begin. And remember, we can't fuck this up. If anything goes wrong, we might not make it out of this." I huffed. Of course, Simeon and I knew that our role was much more complicated than this run-through plan let on. Everyone knew. Our role required adapting to whatever situation we found ourselves in and rolling with it. No one wanted to say it out loud, and I didn't want to think about it.

"Are there any questions? No? Dismissed."

As the men dispersed, I breathed a sigh of relief. 'Everything will go excellently,' Bryce had said.

I prayed he was right.

)-(

_Late that Night_.

I stood with Simeon in the woods, far away from where the Orlesian scouts were hiding. It was near pitch-black in the thick of the forest because there was no moon tonight. It was as if the Maker were smiling on us.

Off in the distance, I heard a distinct, unique whistle. It meant the scouts had been dispatched and we were clear to move.

"Let's go," I told Simeon. By the time we had reached our archers, they had already stripped the least-damaged armour that would best-fit Simeon and me from the corpses and it didn't take long for us to change.

I pulled on the armour and tried to adjust it. It was a bit big for me – granted I wasn't the tallest of men – and so I felt uncomfortable. Simeon and I locked eyes and nodded silently. Simi fully trusted me. He and I had grown up in Amaranthine together, and when I had decided to defect from my father's army, he had come with me.

It took some time to find a decent place on the wall that we could climb on. A lot of the notches were spaced too far apart for me to use them. I considered using my knives to help me scale the wall, but I didn't want to ruin the blades.

Finally we had both reached the top, and when we peered over the edge, we saw three Orlesians standing along the wall. There were two closer to Simeon, and the other was standing by himself. I moved along the wall toward the lone soldier, and Simeon did likewise for the other two.

_One._

_Two._

_Three!_

I launched myself over the wall and landed on the Orlesian. I heard a _snap!_ and he didn't make a sound. My feet and legs hurt from the impact but at least no alarms had been raised. Simeon had also taken care of his targets, and we quietly dragged the men to a dark, shadowed area behind a tent.

We made our way to the Chevalier's tent, since we'd had to climb the wall away from it, and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw there was a back entrance. It was unguarded because it faced the fortifications, but I knew there would be guards at the front entrance, and perhaps one within the tent.

"How do we want to do this?" Simeon whispered.

I held my finger up to my lips and snuck along the side of the tent. There were, as I thought, two guards (fully alert), and the nearest men aside from them were gathered around a campfire about ten metres away. And that fire was close to some hastily made stables. Horses. _Hmm…_

I returned to Simi. "Here's what I'm thinking," I whispered. "I can throw a pouch of explosive powder into that fire over there. I guarantee that one of these guards will investigate and help put out the fire, and the other will either stay here or try to find me, because that pouch will fly a good distance and it probably won't go unnoticed."

"As for me?"

"If a guard stays, take him down quietly. If not, enter the tent and gag the Chevalier. Grab anything useful. No one can know he's missing. I'll be back."

Simeon nodded. "Okay."

I tiptoed around the edge of the camp again until I saw an inconspicuous opening where I had a clear shot to the campfire, and I weighed the pouch in my hand. I closed my eyes and let out a breath. _This should be easy… focus._ I threw the pouch and ran back and behind a tent just before it exploded. The powder had landed on the campfire _perfectly_ and caused the flames to roll up and out. It burned all the men sitting near and caused the 'stables' to catch fire. I couldn't help but smirk as I rushed back to Simi. It seemed that both Orlesians had run to help their comrades and left the tent completely unguarded. I rushed inside the tent to find a bound and gagged Chevalier whose eyes showed fear, and a smug-looking Simeon. I exited and threw a glass flask over the wall. This one exploded on impact, but made little noise and mostly gave off a flash of white light and smoke. It let our archers know to tell each army – Leonas's and Montel's – to attack.

The Maker had smiled on us, indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I'm sorry if the past and future war, camp, and battle strategy seem improbable or ridiculous. I haven't read many books on war, nor am I acquainted with the way things are said and done during such. I'm doing my best to consider all the angles and methods that could be used to infiltrate a camp or set up battle lines, but the bottom line is: I know nothing about this. I'm writing this more for the emotional story, rather than for the accuracy of strategy. Anyway. My disclaimer.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_The Next Morning._

Things could not have gone more perfectly.

Leonas's men charged in from the north and Montel's men from the south, and the Orlesians were completely unprepared. And with their horses scared and running wildly about the camp, no one could escape, or even effectively fight back. We had lost men, as was expected, but not too many. As for Simi and me, two of Leonas's horsemen had ridden to us and given us their horses so we could escape with the Chevalier.

Simi and I had ridden our horses until we had reached Bryce's reinforcements and waited there until the entire camp had been massacred. It was pleasing to see them so utterly defeated. Thankfully, Simi had grabbed what documents and maps he could find from the Chevalier's tent, and now we just had to… creatively get what other information we needed from our prisoner.

After the Orlesians had been defeated, our forces had returned to camp, but Montel's men had taken care of capturing what prisoners and provisions they could and returned to their own camp, so they might pack up and join us this morning.

It seemed I had gained a little respect from the men in camp. I received Good Mornings and "Well done, Rendon," from several people; and I'd had fewer nervous and distrustful glances thrown my way. Things were finally looking up for me.

I had a bottle of whiskey in my hand and was smirking at the pillory when I heard Bryce laughing.

"You can stop gloating any time, now," he said good-naturedly.

I took in a sharp breath. "You know?…" I looked at him and smiled. "I think I'll ignore you for now. I'm _utterly_ proud of myself." I took a long swig from my bottle and savored the grainy taste before swallowing.

Bryce chuckled and nodded. "As you should be. Come now, my friend, Everett should arrive any moment."

As if on cue, a messenger ran up to us quickly. "Teyrn Cousland, Howe," he said with nods to us, "Bann Montel approaches."

_Not 'Arl Howe,'_ I noticed. I set down the bottle.

"Thank you," said Bryce.

Only a few moments later, Montel and his army rode into camp and we three nobles greeted him.

"Welcome!" said Bryce. "It is good to see you well, Bann Everett."

Montel dismounted and removed his helmet. He had long, silver hair and a beard that looked like it used to be well-trimmed but had been allowed to grow unchecked. "Everett, please."

Bryce smiled. "Very well."

Montel extended his hand. "And it is good to see all of you. Bryce Cousland, if I'm not mistaken?"

Bryce shook Montel's hand. "Aye."

"Leonas Bryland?"

"Yes, that's me," said Leonas.

Montel nodded and turned to me. "Ah, and you are Rendon Howe, yes?"

I swallowed. "Indeed, I am." I extended my hand confidently, despite how nervous I felt. That name was a curse on the lips of Fereldans.

Montel smiled warmly and shook my hand firmly. "You did a terrific job last night, I understand. I am glad to have you and your skill on our side."

_Phew!_ "Thank you, Ser."

Montel turned around. "I would like to introdu—now, where did she go?"

"Who?" asked Bryce.

"My daughter _was_ right behind me." Montel paused and looked around for a minute. "She likes to run off and explore. I doubt she'll be missing long."

"You put a lot of trust in your daughter," I noted.

"She has earned it. Have you learned anything from the Chevalier?"

"Nothing yet," said Leonas. "He's not talking."

Montel scratched his chin. "We have leverage, now. Maps, letters, food… men."

Leonas half-shrugged. "These men are loyal to their country, as we are. They won't tell us anything."

"Not all, I think," I replied. "Some of them were forced to join the army. Some might be farmers. It's a matter of finding the weak link and making him talk."

"And you know how to do this?" asked Montel.

"I have a few ideas. But let's get you settled in, first. Get your prisoners locked up here and have your men make camp."

"A sound plan. Men!" Montel shouted. "You heard the Arl!"

I couldn't help but smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The camp was busy and noisy, and I didn't do well in crowds. I mumbled something about needing to leave and retreated to the nearby woods. Here it was peaceful and quiet, and I was able to think clearly. _Might as well enjoy the green while it lasts_, I thought. Fereldan summers were warm but short-lived; and when winter came, you would have never guessed that such a thing as 'summer' existed.

It was tempting to sit down and lean against a tree to relax, but I was not so dumb as to let my guard down like that. I had my daggers with me, of course, but I might as well be unarmed if I left myself that vulnerable.

I took a deep breath. Scents of grass, dirt, bark, rotting leaves and mushrooms in the still air filled my nostrils. Above me, I could hear leaves rustling in the trees, and a few birds chirped as they flew away—

_There is no wind._

I reached for the hilt of my dagger and quickly looked up, trying to decide whether to run or look for cover. If it were an archer in the tree, he would have the high ground, and I was basically fucked.

"Oh, dear…"

The voice was much higher than I would have anticipated. It sounded feminine_._ I drew both daggers and whirled about, searching for the source of the voice. The trees were tall, however, and sound carried strangely in the woods.

"Please—I did not mean to startle you."

_Definitely a woman._ Still, I narrowed my eyes. "Show yourself!"

There was a pause. "Toss your daggers away from you."

I scoffed. "Drop your weapons, first," I demanded.

The woman scoffed back. "I am not risking damaging my weapons."

"I suppose we're at an impasse, then."

There was an exasperated sigh. "See here, I can tell from your accent that you are not culturally Orlesian. And from your armour, I am certain you are not politically Orlesian, either."

I didn't respond right away. She was right about me… though I did think it was ironic that she'd use my armour as a source that I wasn't Orlesian, considering I'd just infiltrated a camp undetected by using Orlesian armour. At any rate, from her accent, she was not Orlesian, either. I couldn't place the dialect, but it was from neither Highever nor South Reach, so she couldn't have been—

_A-ah!_

"You're not Orlesian, either. You're from Oswin, aren't you?"

"Indeed. Anything else?"

"You're the daughter of Bann Montel."

A gentle chuckle graced down from the trees. "Indeed," she repeated. "Now, can we agree not to attack each other?"

"Yes." I sheathed my daggers and waited. Before long, a lithe, slim figure descended from the tree. She mostly held on to branches and found lower ones with her feet, but as she came closer to the ground she began hopping from branch to branch until finally she landed on her feet in the dirt. She had long, blonde hair that was braided and green eyes. She wore fine leather armour and sported a longbow. The bow was strapped to her back, and her belt supported a longsword in its scabbard.

She brushed the leaves and dirt from her body. "Well, shall we introduce ourselves?" She approached and held out her hand.

"Rendon," I said, shaking her hand.

"Rendon?" The blonde narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Howe."

"How, what?"

"No, _Howe_. With an _e_. My name is Rendon Howe."

"Oh, I see. Well, I am Eleanor Montel, as you might have guessed. Shall we head back to camp?" Her voice had an airy, lilting quality.

"Sure."

She let me lead the way through the green.

"So… Howe."

_Here we go._ "Yes?"

"You are the son of the Arl?"

"Yes. Not that I'm proud of it."

"And you left him to fight with the Rebels?"

"Yes."

"I don't know if I could have turned against my father."

I stopped abruptly and looked at her. She was startled. "_I_ didn't turn against him. _He_ turned against his country." I turned away. "And he's going to pay for it," I snarled.

Eleanor didn't speak for a second. "I'm sorry if I offended you."

I sighed. "It's fine."

"I have… never been in that situation. Maybe if I were you, I would have done the same."

"Maybe."

Eleanor must've gotten the hint because she didn't ask more questions about that. Not then, anyway.

Bryce, Leonas, and Montel were waiting in the war tent when we got back.

"Ah, there you are!" Montel said when he saw us. "It seems you've met Rendon."

Eleanor laughed lightly. "I have, indeed."

Montel raised an eyebrow.

"Our meeting was an accident," I offered. "We scared each other a bit."

Montel chuckled. "Well, all right, then. I'm sure I can hear the story later. Eleanor, this is Bryce Cousland, and this is Leonas Bryland." He motioned to them respectively.

Bryce smiled and held out his hand and kissed Eleanor's hand after she accepted the gesture. "It's a pleasure, my lady."

Leonas did the same. "Likewise," he said.

"What is the next step?" Eleanor asked.

"Now we must learn everything we can from our prisoners," said Leonas.

I smiled. "And I believe that task has fallen to me, yes?"


End file.
